so few things get under my skin. though somethings surly do. using a plant as an ashtray. or putting the milk away, without leaving enough left over for cereal. not all these things in a bad way: one of the most notable would have to be how you always combined your "shrugs with a smile," the indian name i would secretly give you if i had the time to do so. and sense you refused to apologize for a single one of your foibles, i fell in love with them one by one. but not in a comfortable way. but rather like a bandaide being pulled off so slowly that the wound was healed by the time it got there. you always wore your downfalls like a dress i'd take you to dinner in, but which you refused to wear out. i long for the day when i might see it again...commenting on how beautiful you look.